He then unto the Ladder turns his Back,
Looks in the Clouds, fcorning the base Degrees,
By which he did afcend: So Cafar may:

Then, left he may, prevent. And fince the Quarrel
Will bear no colour, for the thing he is,
Fashion it thus; that what he is augmented,
Would run to the fe, and thefe Extremities:
And therefore think him as a Serpent's Egg,
Which hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,
And kill him in the Shell.

Enter Lucius.

Luc. The Taper burneth in your Closet, Sir:
Searching the Window for a Flint, I found
This Paper, thus feal'd up, and I am fure,
It did not lye there, when I went to Bed.

[Gives him the Letter.

Bru. Get you to Bed again, it is not Day:
Is not to Morrow, Boy, the first of March?
Luc. I know not, Sir.

Bru. Look in the Kalendar, and bring me word.
Luc. I will, Sir..

Bru. The Exhalations, whizzing in the Air,
Give fo much light; that I may read by them.

[Exit.

[Opens the Letter, and reads. Brutus, thon fleep'ft; awake, and fee thy felf: Shall Rome,Speak, ftrike, redress.

Brutus, thou sleep'ft: Awake.

Such Inftigations have been often dropt,
Where I have took them up:,

Shall Rome Thus muft I piece it out,

Shall Rome ftand under one Man's awe? What, Rome?

My Ancestors did from the Streets of Rome

The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a King.

Speak, ftrike, redrefs. Am I entreated

To fpeak, and ftrike? O Rome, I make thee promife,
If the redress will follow, thou receiv'ft

Thy full Petition at the Hand of Brutus.

Enter Lucius.

Luc. Sir, March is wafted fifteen Days. [Knock within. Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the Gate, fome body knocks:

Since Caffius firft did whet me against Cafar,

I

I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing,
And the firft motion, all the Interim is
Like a Phantafm, or a hideous Dream:
The Genius, and the mortal Inftruments,
Are then in Council; and the ftate of Man,
Like to a little Kingdom, fuffers then,
The nature of an Infurre&tion.

Enter Lucius.'

Luc. Sir, 'tis your Brother Caffius at the Door, Who doth defire to fee you.

Bru. Is he alone?

Luc. No, Sir, there are more with him.

Bru. Do you know them?

Luc. No, Sir, their Hats are pluck'd about their Ears,

And half their Faces buried in their Cloaths,

That by no means I may discover them,

By any mark of favour.

Bru. Let them enter.

They are the Faction. O Confpiracy!

[Exit Lucius.

Sham'ft thou to fhew thy dang'rous Brow by Night,

When Evils are moft free? O then, by Day

Where wilt thou find a Cavern dark enough,

To mask thy monftrous Vifage? Seek none, Confpiracy,
Hide it in Smiles and Affability:

For if thou path, thy native Semblance on,

Not Erebus it felf were dim enough,

To hide thee from Prevention.

Enter Caffius, Caska, Decius, Cinna, Metellus, and

Trebonius.

Caf. I think we are too bold upon your Reft;
Good Morrow, Brutus, do we trouble you?

Bru. I have been up this hour, awake all Night:
Know I thefe Men, that come along with you?
Caf. Yes, every Man of them; and no Man here
But honours you: And every one doth with,
You had but that Opinion of your felf,
Which every Noble Roman bears of
This is Trebonius.

Bru. He is welcome hither.

Caf. This, Decius Brutus.

you.

Afide.

Bru.

Bru. He is welcome too.

Caf. This, Caska; this, Cinna; And this Metellus Cimber.

Bru. They are all welcome.

What watchful Cares do interpole themselves,
Betwixt your Eyes and Night?

Caf. Shall Lintreat a word?

[They whisper.

Dec. Here lies the Eaft: Doth not the Day break here? Cask, No.

Cin. O pardon, Sir, it doth, and yon grey Lines,
That fret the Clouds, are Meffengers of Day.

Cask. You shall confefs that you are both deceiv'd:
Here as I point my Sword, the Sun arifes,
Which is a great way growing on the South,
Weighing the youthful Seafon of the Year.
Some two Months hence, up higher toward the North
He first prefents his fire, and the high Eaft
Stands as the Capitol, directly here.

Bru. Give me your Hands all over, one by one.
Caf. And let us fwear our Refolution.

Bru. No, not an Oath: If not the Face of Men,
The Sufferance of our Souls, the Time's abuse,
If these be Motives weak, break off betimes,
And ev'ry Man hence, to his idle Bed:
So let high-fighted Tyranny range on,
'Till each Man drop by Lottery. But if thefe,
As I am fure they do, bear Fire enough
To kindle Cowards, and to fteel with Valour
The melting Spirits of Women; then, Countrymen,
What need we any fpur, but our own Cause
To prick us to redrefs? What other Bond,
Than fecret Romans, that have spoke the word,
And will not palter? And what other Oath,
Than Honefty to Honesty engag'd,
That this fhall be, or we will fall for it.
Swear Priefts, and Cowards, and Men cautelous,
Old feeble Carrions, and fuch fuffering Souls
That welcome wrongs: Unto bad Caufes, fwear
Such Creatures as Men doubt; but do not stain
The even Virtue of our Enterprize,
Nor th' infuppreffive Mettle of our Spirits,

Το

To think, that or our Caufe, or our Performance,
Did need an Oath. When every drop of Blood,
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a feveral Baftardy,

If he doth break the finalle ft Particle
Of any Promile, that hath paft from him.
Caf. But what of Cicero? Shall we found him?
I think he will stand very ftrong with us.
Cask. Let us not leave him out.

Cin. No, by no means.

Met. Olet us have him, for his Silver Hairs Will purchafe us a good Opinion,

કર્યું

And buy Mens Voices, to commend our Deeds; *
It shall be faid, his Judgment rul'd our Hands ;)

Our Youths, and Wildnefs, fhall no whit appear,

But all be buried in his Gravity.

Bru. O name him not; let us not break with him, L For he will never follow any thing

That other Men begin.

Caf. Then leave him out...

Cask, Indeed, he is not fit.

$.0

Dec. Shall no Man elfe be touch'd, but only Cafar? Y
Caf. Decins, well urg'd; I think it is not meet, g

Mark Antony, fo well belov'd of Cefar,

રમે છ

Should out-live Cafar: we shall find of hime at så mi

A fhrewd Contriver. And you know, his means,

If he improve them, may well stretch so far,
As to annoy us all; which to prevent,

Let Antony and Cafar fall together.

Bru.Our Courfe will feem too bloody, Caius Caffins, NM To cut the Head off, and then hack the Limbs Like wrath in Death, and Envy afterwards a For Antony is but a Limb of Cafar. Let's be Sacrificers, but not Butchers, Caffius: We all stand up against the Spirit of Cafar, And in the Spirit of Men, there is no Blood: O that we then could come by Cafar's Spirits, And not dilmember Cafar! but, alas! Cafar muft bleed for it. And, gentle Friends, Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him, as a Difh fit for the God',

Not

Not hew him as a Carkafs fit for Hounds;
And let our Hearts, as fubtle Masters do,
Stir up their Servants to an aЯ of Rage,
And after feem to chide them.

This fhall make

Our purpose neceffary, and not envious:
Which fo appearing to the common Eyes,
We fhall be call'd Purgers, nor Murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him;
For he can do more than Cafar's Arm,
When Cafar's Head is off.

Caf. Yet I fear him;

For in the ingrafted Love he bears to Cafar
Bru. Alas, good Caffius, do not think of him:
If he love Cafar, all that he can do

Is to himself, take thought, and die for Cafar.
And that were much he fhould; for he is giv'n
To Sports, and Wildnefs, and much Company.
Treb. There is no fear in him; let him not die,
For he will live, and laugh at us hereafter.
Bru. Peace, count the Clock.

Caf. The Clock hath ftricken three.
Treb. 'Tis time to part.

Caf. But it is doubtful yet,

༣

Whether Cafar will come forth to Day, or not
For he is Superftitious grown of late,

Quite from the main Opinion he held once,
Of Fantafie, of Dreams, and Ceremonies:
It may be, these apparent Prodigies,
The unaccustom'd terror of this Night,
And the perfuafion of his Augurers,
May hold him from the Capitol to Day.

Dec. Never fear that; if he be fo refolv'd,
I can o'er-fway him; for he loves to hear,
That Unicorns may be betray'd with Trees,
And Bears with Glaffes, Elephants with Holes,
Lions with Toils, and Men with Flatterers.
But when I tell him, he hates Flatterers,
He fays, he does; being then moft flattered.
Let me work:

For I can give his Humour the true bent;
And I will bring him to the Capitol.

VOL. V.

N

[Clock Strikes.

Caf.